Unsettled

Sal sat in his first Defense Against the Dark Arts class, half-listening to Professor Quirrell's hesitant lecture when an odd sensation crept over him—the distinct feeling of being watched. The dimly lit classroom, lined with ancient tomes and shadowy corners, gave the room an eerie atmosphere. Candles flickered along the stone walls, their wavering light casting ominous shapes across the room. His eyes flickered across the students, but everyone was either nodding off or focused on their notes. A quick glance at Quirrell revealed nothing out of the ordinary, though something about the professor's hunched posture and hesitant stammer unsettled him. Shaking it off, Sal focused on getting through the class, relieved when he was excused early to assist with Herbology.

The contrast between the two classrooms was stark. The greenhouse was alive with energy, bathed in golden sunlight filtering through the enchanted glass ceiling. Lush greenery lined every surface, leaves stretching eagerly toward the light. The scent of damp earth and blooming flora filled the air, creating an atmosphere of growth and renewal.

"Alright, settle down, class," Professor Sprout called as students filed into the greenhouse, their robes trailing dirt behind them. "Mr. Cross, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Of course, Professor," Sal replied, hoisting a pot onto the central table. Inside, a peculiar, twitching plant stretched toward the light, its leaves curling and uncurling as if breathing.

"Who can tell me what this is?" Sprout asked, scanning the eager faces before her.

Both Hermione and Neville shot their hands up. "Yes, Mr. Longbottom?"

"It's Wiggle Weed!" Neville said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm.

"And what is it used for?"

"It's the main ingredient in Wiggle Weed Potion, which enhances agility for a short period."

"Excellent! Ten points to Gryffindor."

Sal noticed Neville's grin, a rare moment of confidence for the typically timid boy. Professor Sprout smiled warmly. "Now, before we begin, I'm going to teach you the Herbivicus Charm. Watch closely and follow my wand movements."

The class buzzed with excitement as students prepared to cast their spells. Neville, in particular, looked eager. Sal stayed after class to help clean up, carefully rearranging pots and soil bags.

"So, Sal," Professor Sprout said as she wiped her hands on her apron. "What did you think of today's lesson?"

"It was great," Sal replied, setting a plant back in place. "Neville really stood out today."

Professor Sprout nodded approvingly. "Yes, I noticed that too. He has a natural gift for Herbology, even if he doesn't see it yet."

Sal grinned. "I think he's starting to."

"Perhaps," she mused. "Now, go on and get to your own work. You've done enough for today."

"Thanks, Professor," Sal said, grabbing his bag. As he walked out of the greenhouse, he couldn't help but feel that something about today's lessons—both in Defense Against the Dark Arts and here—was setting the stage for something bigger. He just didn't know what yet.

Sal had been working on his schoolwork since he left Herbology, his quill scratching furiously against the parchment. Tulip sighed, leaning over his desk. "Sal, you should take a break."

"I will, I just want to get this done before dinner," Sal replied, rubbing his eyes.

He had barely set his quill down when Tonks plopped into the seat across from him. "Hey, did you hear? Harry was just made Gryffindor Seeker."

Tulip's eyes widened. "Really? First years never make the Quidditch team."

"Looks like he inherited his father's skills with a broom," Tonks said with a smirk.

"That's great," Sal muttered, but his response lacked enthusiasm.

Tonks raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong? You look distracted."

Tulip chimed in, "Sal's just tired. No wonder—he's doing his own schoolwork and acting as a teacher's assistant."

"I am a little tired, but that's not it," Sal admitted. "In Dark Arts class, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched."

Tonks frowned. "I'm not surprised. That class always gives me the creeps."

Sal sighed. "You're probably right."

That night, Sal patrolled the corridors as part of his prefect duties, his enchanted map spread out in his hands. He traced the glowing names on the parchment, eyes narrowing when he spotted three students sneaking toward the forbidden third floor. Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter.

"Brilliant," Sal muttered. He quickly made his way toward them.

He barely turned the corner when the three came skidding to a halt, out of breath and wide-eyed.

"Care to explain why you're out after curfew, let alone on the third floor?" Sal asked, arms crossed.

"Nothing!" Ron blurted out, his ears turning red.

Sal arched an eyebrow. "Really? In that case, five points from each of you. Consider yourselves lucky I don't tell Professor McGonagall."

The trio scurried off, casting glances behind them. Sal sighed, shaking his head. This is going to be a long year.

The Great Hall buzzed with excitement the next morning as students eagerly anticipated the Halloween feast. The enchanted ceiling flickered with floating jack-o'-lanterns, casting an eerie orange glow across the tables.

"Are you guys ready for the feast tonight?" Tonks asked as she grabbed a muffin.

"Absolutely. I always love the decorations," Tulip added.

"It'll be a nice way to end the day," Sal agreed. But his schedule was far from over.

Potions class was first, and Sal arrived early as usual to help set up. Professor Snape greeted him with a curt nod. "Mr. Cross, today we will begin practical studies. Set up a demonstration station for the students."

"Yes, Professor. Before I forget, I put together a plan to test the students by assigning them preselected partners."

Snape reviewed the parchment, raising an eyebrow. "Why doesn't Miss Granger have a partner?"

"I want to see what she's capable of on her own," Sal explained.

"Very well," Snape conceded. "I'll allow it."

As students filed in, Sal discreetly slipped Hermione a note. She unfolded it, scanning the message:

Hermione, today students will be in assigned pairs—except for you. I want to compare our potions at the end of class. The catch: you'll be making yours alone.

Hermione's heart raced. This was her chance to prove herself. She had been wanting to talk to Sal since the start of term, but he was always busy. She knew he was a prodigy—and the heir to all four Hogwarts houses. He was practically royalty.

"Today, you'll be working in preassigned pairs," Snape announced. "You will not complain. Mr. Potter, you are with Mr. Longbottom. Mr. Malfoy, you are with Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger, you will work alone."

Sal started his potion with practiced ease, following his own modified notes rather than the standard textbook. As he glanced around the classroom, he observed the students closely. Hermione was working with fierce determination, Harry and Neville seemed to be managing well, but Ron and Draco were another story. They bickered for the first ten minutes until Malfoy, looking exasperated, simply ignored Ron and finished the potion himself.

"Alright, that's time!" Snape announced. "Leave your vials on your desks for inspection."

Sal handed over his potion, its vibrant, translucent green shimmering under the candlelight.

Snape held it up. "This, class, is what a proper Wiggle Weed Potion should look like. Now, let's see how you all fared."

First was Draco and Ron. Their concoction was an unappetizing sewage-green color, and Sal could smell it from across the room.

Snape wrinkled his nose. "Mr. Weasley, I have seen bad potions, but this is a new low. Ten points from Gryffindor."

He moved on to Harry and Neville. Their potion wasn't perfect, but it was a more acceptable shade.

"Passable," Snape said grudgingly.

Finally, he stopped at Hermione's desk. "Miss Granger, at least you can follow instructions."

Hermione's chest swelled with pride, but she caught Sal's gaze as he took her potion and compared it to his own.

"Professor Snape is right—you can follow directions well," Sal said quietly. "But the difference between a good potion and a great one is thinking outside the book. Let's talk at the feast tonight."

Hermione nodded eagerly, determined to learn more.

In Charms class, Sal observed the students as they practiced the Wingardium Leviosa spell. Predictably, Hermione mastered it within minutes, while Ron jabbed his wand erratically with little care for precision.

Hermione, in her usual way, leaned over to help. "You're saying it wrong—"

"Shove off, Hermione!" Ron snapped, frustration bubbling over.

Sal sighed, stepping in. "Ron, if you're not careful, you're going to hurt yourself—or worse, someone else."

Professor Flitwick clapped his hands. "Alright, class! One more time, and remember to speak clearly. Wingardium Leviosa!"

As class ended, Sal overheard Ron mutter, "No wonder she doesn't have any friends."

Sal's eyes flashed. "What was that, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron's face turned beet red. "Nothing!"

Sal exhaled sharply. "Why don't you and Harry get ready for the feast?"

Harry grabbed Ron's sleeve. "That sounds like a plan. Let's go."

As they walked away, Sal shook his head. This year is going to be very interesting…

The Great Hall was alive with the glow of enchanted pumpkins, floating candles, and the excited chatter of students enjoying the Halloween feast. Plates were piled high with delicious treats, and laughter echoed off the stone walls. But amidst the celebration, Sal noticed something odd—Hermione was missing.

His eyes darted to the Gryffindor table, searching for her familiar bushy hair, but she was nowhere to be found. Something felt off. With a glance at Percy, he leaned over and murmured, "I'm going to find Hermione. She's not here."

Percy raised an eyebrow but gave a nod. "Alright, but don't be too long."

Sal slipped out of the Great Hall and pulled out his enchanted map, the one Sarah had made for him. Tracing the lines of Hogwarts' corridors with his eyes, he quickly found Hermione's name—it was hovering inside the girls' bathroom.

Why would she be there?

Without hesitation, he made his way through the dimly lit corridors. The closer he got, the more he could hear faint, muffled sniffling coming from inside the bathroom. He knocked gently.

"You know," he said through the door, "when I said I wanted to meet you at the feast, this wasn't what I had in mind."

The crying stopped. After a moment, the door cracked open slightly, revealing Hermione's tear-streaked face.

"Sorry," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes quickly as if trying to erase any evidence of her distress.

Sal shrugged. "It's okay. I was just trying to cheer you up." He hesitated, watching her expression carefully. "Want to tell me what's wrong?"

She looked down at the floor. "It's stupid. Ron—he said that I don't have any friends."

Sal sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That's not true. Besides, who cares what Ron thinks? He's got the emotional depth of a teaspoon."

Hermione let out a weak chuckle at that, but she still looked uncertain. "You're a prodigy, Sal. You don't have to waste time on—"

"Stop right there," Sal interrupted. "That's just a label people slap on me. You think I don't mess up? When I was preparing for Hogwarts, I went completely overboard and brewed every potion for the entire year."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You did?"

"Yeah, it was overkill in hindsight," Sal admitted with a small smile. "That's why Tonks and Tulip keep me grounded. Otherwise, I'd spend all my time buried in research."

"That must be nice," Hermione murmured.

Sal tilted his head. "Tell you what—Tonks and Tulip are graduating this year, and I'm going to need someone to keep me from getting lost in my own head. So, what do you say? Want to be friends?"

Hermione hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded, a genuine smile forming on her face. "Yeah… I'd like that."

"Great! Now let's—" Sal suddenly stiffened, his instincts flaring.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled through the stone corridors, followed by the heavy, bone-shaking sound of something massive moving closer.

"Did you hear that?" Sal asked, eyes narrowing.

Before Hermione could respond, the bathroom door suddenly burst open, the hinges creaking in protest as a massive troll stomped inside.

The beast was enormous, its skin thick and gray, with small, beady eyes that flickered with dull rage. It reeked of sweat, rot, and damp stone. In one of its oversized hands, it gripped a large wooden club that was splintered at the edges.

"Quickly—get behind me!" Sal ordered.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand, but instead of casting an attack, he flicked his wrist and sent a silvery streak of light soaring from his wand—a Patronus messenger to alert the professors.

The troll roared and lunged forward, raising its club high.

"Alright then," Sal muttered under his breath, his mind racing. "Come and get me."

The club came down, but with a quick flick of his wand, Sal transfigured the club into a swarm of butterflies. They scattered, fluttering around the troll's confused face.

Snarling, the beast stomped forward, furious at losing its weapon. Thinking fast, Sal conjured a stone barrier between himself and the beast, forcing it to change directions. The troll roared in frustration and, instead of trying to get through, began grabbing chunks of the broken sinks and throwing them.

With sharp reflexes, Sal dodged, blasting the debris mid-air into harmless dust.

The troll, now even angrier, let out a deafening roar and prepared to charge straight at Sal and Hermione.

At that exact moment, Ron and Harry burst into the bathroom.

Sal groaned inwardly. Great timing.

Acting quickly, he seized the opportunity—he transfigured the shattered sinks into a giant stone fist and, with a forceful flick of his wand, sent it slamming into the troll's head.

The troll let out a final, confused grunt before its eyes rolled back, and with a ground-shaking THUD, it collapsed unconscious onto the bathroom floor.

The room was silent, save for the distant sound of approaching footsteps.

"What—just—happened?" Ron gaped at the scene before him.

Before Sal could answer, Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Quirrell stormed inside.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Snape demanded, his dark eyes scanning the destruction.

Hermione quickly opened her mouth to explain, but McGonagall raised a hand to silence her. She turned to Sal instead.

"Mr. Cross?" she asked, her voice firm but not unkind. "Your report, please."

Sal took a breath. "I noticed Hermione wasn't at the feast, so I told Percy I'd go find her. She was here in the bathroom when the troll suddenly showed up. I sent a Patronus message for help and tried to hold it off until backup arrived."

McGonagall nodded approvingly, but her stern expression returned as she turned to Harry and Ron. "And what, may I ask, were you two doing here?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "We thought Hermione was in trouble."

"And instead of telling a professor, you decided to run off into danger?" McGonagall scolded.

Ron muttered something under his breath, but before he could argue, McGonagall declared, "Ten points from Gryffindor."

Then, turning to Sal, she said, "Twenty points to Hufflepuff for quick thinking and protecting a fellow student."

Sal inclined his head, accepting the praise.

Snape, arms crossed, muttered, "At least someone in this room had the sense to act properly."

Quirrell, looking pale and sweaty, finally spoke up, stammering, "Th-thank goodness y-you're all s-safe."

Sal, narrowing his eyes, felt an unsettling shiver go down his spine.

Something about Quirrell wasn't right.

But that was a mystery for another day.